NO TO SEARCH AND RESCUE OPERATION for me if I am just an afterthought inside your brain faculty’s cathartic release and lethargic arrest.
No to search and rescue operation for me among the piles of powdery white sand as if I am an indigenous basalt rock to be brought home as a souvenir for men’s crooked ways.
No to search and rescue operation for me in the shallow, murky and parasitic water of neglected potholes in the dark alleys of the red district.
No to search and rescue operation for me in one of the tainted windshields of Chevrolet and ferrari whenever they run around the long, sleek and perfected highways in full throttle.
No to search and rescue operation for me behind the pink, dainty and ornamented curtains you see in the house of faultless strangers or familiar beauties.
No to search and rescue operation for me because you are solitary and you need a magnitude huge enough to momentarily shake your bed from all the ladies lining up; ready to be tucked in your belt to fill its rigid holes.
No to search and rescue operation for me if you intend to display me as a scarf, shawl or muffler around your costly neck blueprint as you risk walking on a cold, chilly winter night in December.
No to search and rescue operation for me if you’re only waiting for the stars to frolic before your eyes and drop onto your strictly curved eyelashes to make you dream about crayons and watercolor in a reality succumb in eternal darkness.
No to search and rescue operation for me if you pretend to be my closest friend only to steal immortality in my sleep and leave me lifeless in the light of day.
No to search and rescue operation for me in a heterogeneous mixture of kaleidoscopic liquid processed to separate me from all others only to expect me to become a sparkling wine and be baffled as I come out a poorly crafted one.
No to search and rescue operation for me in those philosophically charged books cos you won’t find me there in any way you thought I’d be.
No to search and rescue operation for me as if it’s your obligation to be good and stay nice to me because I owe you nothing to treat me as equally futile as the idea itself.
No to search and rescue operation for me among the fancy words I spill my ink for to give life to the bold fantasy I created for you in a world where I find you a better sanctuary to be consumed.
Because,
I need not be searched
Not be rescued.
In a universe ruled by gods and fortune, I’d like to be that someone you don’t see coming into your life’s carefully written biography.
A composite of me and the universe 